25 April, 2011

A Pillow

On April 12 the cancer finally took him. It was very rough there at the end, with struggles to breathe and maintain dignity, with exhaustion and pain.

We buried him a week ago.

My girls, ever the concrete and literal thinkers, obsess over exactly how one exactly gets buried or why those men are singing songs they can't understand in fancy, embroidered capes or what the spear thing is their cousin is carrying or why the bells have smoke or why they can't pull down Dido's baseball cap collection if he is dead now and doesn't need it.

My family struggles with the conflicting emotions of grief and relief.

There are photos I took of the process of dying and moments in the hospitalization that struck me, but they aren't mine to share yet. It's funny, but I think I've crossed the line into some kind of photographer (albeit very amateur) because there were photos I wanted to make, even at the funeral. Making photos is now an outlet for me.

These two photos are of my Baba's embroidery and what we did with it. While we picked the most simple coffin we could, at my father's request, it still had a bit of a ruffly pillow. So we crafted our own. We took some of my Baba's embroidery and appliqued it to a case we made for the coffin pillow. It might seem morbid to share it here, but I know you will all understand. I needed to share the beauty of my Baba's work, and our desire to bury Dad with the work of two generations.

I stood at the prayer and funeral services and delivered the eulogy. It was a challenge, as my relationship with my father was certainly not perfect and actually far from good at times. But he asked me and I couldn't say no. So I stood and told the story of my father and how his story is also mine, is also the story of everyone who knew him. And now it is yours.

I spoke of the need to get down on the floor and play with the little ones even when the dishes need doing or one more seam needs to be sewn. I spoke of never leaving things let unsaid. I spoke of the need to live your life, to make it through the day taking the time to share your story, to create your story with the people around you.

I'm so sorry for your loss, but thank you for sharing your thoughts and the photos of the beautiful embroidery. And that is one of the most beautiful obituaries that I have ever read. I will be thinking of you.

Death always reminds us that it is a part of life. Pictures and special things are not for the ones who are gone, but for those who shared the life. I hope That the pictures allow you the joy of remembering the good things across the generations and the time in which the family stood together to celebrate a life and how it intertwined with yours.

I'm so sorry - I've been thinking of your family since the last post on your dad's quilt. Your post was very moving - yes, love is complicated, even (especially?) between parents and adult children. Wishing you well.

I'm so sorry about your Dad. I think it's wonderful that you could make the pillow for your Dad with the special embroidery. I hope for happy memories to pop up and remind you of your Dad and ease your sorrows.

The eulogy and the pillow - final gifts for one well loved and deeply respected by his family. These are the things that help one heal, knowing you did your best to honour the soul that touched your life. You are richer in spirit for having done so. Sending blessings to you and your family.

My thoughts are with you and your family. It's such a difficult time, after. It's OK to feel relief, it's hard to maintain that level of intense emotion for so long, of needing to feel strong and not show your sadness. It's OK to feel relief that it's over and that he's no longer in pain. It's OK to miss him and feel sad for the future he's not going to be a part of. It's OK. Let yourself feel. (((hugs)))

This is very touching Cheryl. The stitch work is beautiful, and your wanting to share it here is not morbid at all. Hugs to you for being strong and giving the eulogy. I know how hard that must have been. My father also asked if I would speak at his funeral, and I was the only family member to do so. It was extremely hard, and we also had a sometimes rocky relationship... hitting our worst moments right before he was diagnosed, and never fully recovering from them.

Death has a way of slowing us down and giving us a new perspective... not just emotionally, but visually as well. Keep taking your photos. xo

My Mother is at the last stage of cancer as well. We do not know how long it will take, probably she will not celebrate her 87th birthday.Thank you for your post, it gives me the courage to accept death as a part of life.I understand the need of chanelling grief into something hand made and meaningful.

Thank you for sharing. My mom died 18 months ago from cancer. It is still hard at times. I love the beauty and truth of what you shared in how to live life to the fullest even when there is more to be done. Thank you.

oh I'm so sorry. I feel your loss as I lost my mum on the 29th march. to cancer. I felt weird but i took a few photos in the church and afterwards to remember it. I didn't share them on my blog. It's been hard since she left but having a family of my own and craft to keep me busy makes it easier!!!!corrie:)